Why is the rum gone?
by Person-without-a-FF.N-account
Summary: Oneshot - the Doctor and the Master discover Jack Sparrow marooned on a desert island, and decide to stay for a drink. Lighthearted and fun :)


The Doctor sat bolt upright and then, regretting his decision almost immediately, shut his eyes tight. He blindly reached for the nearest bottle of rum, hoping that it would steady the sudden spinning inside his head.

His fingers scurried around in the hot sand like spiders, but no rum was forthcoming.

Chancing a peek through his sore eyelids, the Doctor found that Jack Sparrow was sitting cross-legged beside him in a mediative position. Casting a glance around, he saw no glass bottles.

"Jack," croaked the Doctor, "Where has the rum gone?"

"I think the question you should be asking yourself, mate, is '_Why _is the rum gone?'" Jack stroked his beard pensively. "Since it's entirely evident _where _the rum has gone, isn't it?" He rotated his gaze and stared unnervingly through the Doctor.

The Doctor craned his neck around to look behind him.

About ten paces away, the Master was standing in the shade of a tall palm tree, methodically emptying bottle after bottle of rum into a shiny tube which snaked across the sand and disappeared into the doors of the TARDIS.

"Ah." The Doctor coughed drily. His throat felt as if he had ingested most of the beach. "So _that's_ where the rum's gone."

Jack nodded slowly. "But for what nefarious purpose, do you think?"

The Doctor blinked blearily at the Master, and then something seemed to click and an indignant expression made its way onto his face. "He'd better not be getting the TARDIS drunk!"

Jack frowned at him. "The whatty?"

"TARDIS!" repeated the Doctor, staggering to his feet and shaking the sand out of his pockets. "My ship. The big blue box over there that we arrived in."

Jack raised his eyebrows doubtfully. "Firstly, I fail to imagine how your so-called ship could sail, or even indeed float. And secondly… I am strongly certain that you both floated down from the sky on a blue cloud."

The Doctor frowned, trying to penetrate the rum-flavoured fog in his brain and access his memories from the previous day. He remembered taking the TARDIS for a slow, scenic flight over the Caribbean, which was interrupted when he spotted a stranded man on a desert island.

He and the Master had landed, introduced themselves and offered a lift - however the somewhat inebriated man seemed in no hurry to leave his sanctuary and instead invited them to spend the evening drinking rum around his campfire.

At some point past 2 o'clock in the morning, the Doctor had fallen into a mellow sleep. His last hazy impression of the night was hearing Jack say to the Master in slurred tones, "So, tell me more about this _other _Captain Jack…"

"Sounds like you had plenty to drink," the Doctor remarked. He offered a hand to help Jack up, but the pirate reacted with a look of mild distaste and stood unaided.

The Caribbean sun was blazing down upon their tiny island, which was actually little more than a sandy grove of palm trees surrounded by a crescent of white beach. The TARDIS was parked jauntily upon a gentle dune in the centre of the grove, its blue-panelled sides coated with wind-blown sand.

"Ah, Doctor!" grinned the Master, uncorking another bottle as he saw them approach. "You're finally awake, I see."

The Master had removed his black hoodie, which now hung on a low shrub, and rolled up the sleeves of his red shirt. His blond hair glinted in the sunlight, and his tone spoke of an ingenious but possibly ignoble plan.

"What _exactly_ are you doing?" demanded the Doctor, grabbing the rum bottle out of the Master's hand and passing it to Jack for safekeeping, who did nothing of the sort.

"I'm trying to fix your bloody ship," said the Master, folding his arms and glaring at the Doctor. "Sand's got under the console and she won't start. I'm processing this disgusting human beverage into ethanol and then flushing out the boosting chambers with it."

"But… but…" the Doctor stuttered, struggling to find a way to object to the Master's surprisingly logical and resourceful plan, "You can't just _sloosh_ that into the engine! She's an old ship, you've got to be _delicate!_"

"Ah, an old ship, is she!" exclaimed Jack, putting one arm around the Doctor's shoulders while the other swung the now half-empty rum bottle. "My ship's old too, you know… the _Black Pearl, _is what she's called. Old and reliable, like a… rock." he hiccoughed.

"Listen, Doctor," said the Master impatiently. "This is our only option. Much as I would love to be stranded here with you and _Captain Jack_…" he rolled his eyes at the swaying pirate, "I have better things to do. Now do us a favour and go recalibrate the engines."

Jack grinned, apparently happy to be addressed by his full title. "Well _I _say we all just relax here for a couple more days. We've got all the essentials -" He gestured expansively at their surroundings "…sun… shade… rum…"

"Oh yes, those three universally acknowledged essentials for survival." The Master rolled his eyes, grabbing the almost depleted rum bottle back from Jack and emptying it into the tube. "Never mind food or water, or maybe even a _toilet_."

"Mate, the ocean is the world's greatest toilet…"

The Doctor shook his head a few times, trying to block out his companions' buzzing voices and shake himself into action. "Alright, okay. Let's fix the TARDIS. Come on Jack, you'd better come inside, you look like you've been in the sun a little bit too long."

Jack followed the Doctor curiously into the cool of the TARDIS, leaving the Master to finish off the last few rum bottles. His reaction to the the ship's impressive interior was not as amusing as the Doctor had hoped it would be - in fact, the pirate seemed to take it in his stride, leaning casually against one of the coral pillars and glancing around at the softly-lit roundels on the walls of the console room.

"I suppose it's alright," he said grudgingly. "But not a patch on the _Pearl_. Where's the character? Where's the _ruggedness_?"

The Doctor grabbed onto a section of the metal grid flooring and heaved it upwards, revealing a mess of circuitry and complicated-looking machinery.

"That rugged enough for you?" he grinned, donning a pair of welding goggles and preparing to descend into the inner workings of the TARDIS. "Now, watch those two lights on the console and tell me if they flash mauve!"

* * *

Half an hour later the TARDIS was fully repaired, and the rum was fully depleted.

Jack had sobered up, and was circling the ship's console with the keen eye of a magpie, flexing his grimy fingers as if itching to disassemble each component of it in search of something valuable.

"Don't try anything, pirate," warned the Master, although it was an empty threat. He really couldn't care less if the Doctor's badly-affixed controls were damaged, in fact he moderately respected any human with the cheek to do so.

Jack noticed a leftover glass bottle lying by the pilot's seat and eagerly reached for it, then realised it was empty.

"Why is the rum always gone?" he muttered, wiping away a grimy tear.

"Don't worry, Jack." The Doctor leaned around the console and grinned at him. Despite the strange pirate's nonsensical ramblings, propensity to get into trouble and lack of personal hygiene, the Doctor had taken somewhat of a shine to him. "We can drop you anywhere in the Caribbean, and I'll personally take you to the nearest… er, tavern, and buy you a shot of the finest rum they offer!"

"Now, hold on," said the Master as Jack beamed, "I don't think any of us are ready for another drinking session just yet."

"Speak for yourself, mate," said Jack, slouching onto the pilot's seat and spreading his arms wide, his various pieces of jewellery clinking against the metal railings. "But I say any man who can repair, or aid in the repairing of, that is to say… all those involved in the repair of this wonderful, er, hideous, contraption, no matter how insignificant his contribution… is well deserving of a tot of rum! Gentlemen, set a course for Tortuga!"

* * *

The Doctor had once visited an alien city where a festival of abandon took place annually; laws were disregarded, illegal substances consumed, personal privacy invaded and loud music was played after 11PM.

He had considered it to be the lowest den of depravity in the known universe - however, visiting the port of Tortuga with Jack Sparrow proved him considerably wrong.

"How does anybody get any sleep here?!" he asked Jack, shoving away a bumptious goat which was trying to butt him off his barstool. He had to shout to make himself heard over the sounds of lively fiddle music and several chairs being hurled across the room.

Jack shrugged, passing him another beverage. "I usually pass out at some point and wake up the next morning with some fetching damsel under me arm. Generally I assume it's the same for most people."

The Master had abandoned them to speak to a 'fetching damsel' on the other side of the tavern, and the Doctor briefly wondered if he should interfere, but was distracted by a small urchin attempting to pilfer his sonic screwdriver from his trouser pocket.

"Oyy-ah!" he squawked indignantly, wrestling the screwdriver back from the urchin. "Can't a person relax these days without being butted by goats or robbed by small children?"

"Not in Tortuga, mate," grinned Jack, glancing around the room. "Oh look, here comes someone I know!"

The Doctor followed his gaze to a large, beefy man with a tattooed neck, who looked as if he bulked out his fibre intake by eating knives. He caught Jack's eye and a murderous look crossed his broad face.

Jack's smile faded. "Never mind. I think I owe him money. Come on!"

* * *

Suffering much complaint from the Master, Jack and the Doctor managed to prise him away from the suction-like grasp of the fetching damsel and drag him out into the warm evening air, where they had parked the TARDIS in a relatively quiet alleyway.

The Doctor noticed several inhabitants of Tortuga had evidently mistaken the box for a urinal, been refused entry and resigned themselves to utilising its exterior. Grimacing with disgust, he made a mental note to swing by the Intergalactic Car Wash after they left Earth.

"I was having _fun_," said the Master sulkily, trying to tug himself away from Jack, who required an arm for support and promptly staggered after him.

"No, no, no," Jack said earnestly. "Trust me - Shianne is a darlin', I'll admit, but she can be _too much_ fun. Savvy?"

"No savvy," said the Master. "I was planning to hypnotise her into being my lowly human slave."

Jack raised his eyebrows. "Whatever floats your boat, mate."

"Right!" interjected the Doctor before the conversation sunk any further. "It was lovely to meet you, Jack, but we'd better be on our way."

"Alright, then…" Jack belched loudly. "I suppose you'll be wanting me to swear meself to secrecy, seeing as you two are quite obviously _not from around here_, if you catch my drift." He waggled his eyebrows covertly.

The Master sighed and disentangled himself from the drunken pirate, propping him up against the nearest wall like a rag doll. "No need for that. Nobody will believe you anyway."

"Fair enough." Jack waved as the two Time Lords stepped back into the TARDIS. "Good evening, Gentlemen! I shall have another drink in your honour!"

The doors of the blue box swung closed with a _thunk_, and then a light breeze whipped up, sending empty bottles skittering across the cobbled alley. Jack Sparrow watched as the TARDIS pulsed in and out of view before vanishing completely, with a noise like the rasp of a deep-sea creature.

* * *

Joshamee Gibbs discovered Jack Sparrow later that evening, characteristically blind drunk, throwing up over the side of a rickety pier in Tortuga.

As soon as he recognised his friend, Gibbs hurried to his side and flung an arm over the man's shoulders, ignoring the sickly smell of regurgitated alcohol.

"Jack! You son of a biscuit eater!"

"Ahoy, Mr. Gibbs!" groaned Jack as Gibbs clapped him heartily on the back.

"We heard you was marooned on a desert island! How on God's Earth did you escape?"

Jack paused, a frown creasing his tanned brow. He thought about the two oddly-dressed men with the wooden blue box that contained a world of machinery far beyond his understanding, the way they had mysteriously moved from a deserted island to the bustling port in less time than it took to hoist a sail, and their final disappearance into thin air, as if they had never even existed.

He wondered if he would be able to explain all of this accurately to Mr. Gibbs, or if it would simply go over the other man's head.

He turned and gave his friend a confident grin. "Sea turtles, mate."


End file.
